


panegyrica

by philthestone



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2214498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philthestone/pseuds/philthestone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is just his luck, Admiral Komack laments, that he'd be caught in a Klingon hostage situation with an irritatingly cheerful Jim Kirk, a persistently unflappable Commander Spock, and two Klingon ladies who he's starting to suspect are anything <em>but</em> Klingon ladies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	panegyrica

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PsiCygni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsiCygni/gifts).



> silly little oneshot that I came up with ages and ages ago while jumping up and down on the trampoline. Originally, Kirk's compliments were a touch more vulgar, but I decided that that wasn't exactly his style when he wasn't completely drunk so I edited it a lot.  
> Poor Admiral Komack. Though I should add that I have no idea what his character is really like, so don't freak out at me if I'm way off.
> 
> Reviews are Uhura kicking everyone's ass in high heels!

“Come with me,” she snaps, her accent harsh and guttural and entirely too believable. The worn leather of her knife hilt is gripped tightly in her fingers, held effortlessly at her side, and her dark eyes flash dangerous and angry. She is smaller than he would have anticipated, but terrifying nonetheless.

He swallows nervously, glancing to the side to see their would-be guards storming off through the corridor from whence they came, disgruntled and humiliated and possibly mutinous. The Klingon lady in front of him raises her knife – the same knife that had moments before been pressed threateningly to the throat of a warrior three times her size as she apparently made clear the situation in her native language – so that it is level with his nose. Her lips press together in a thin line, and she barks something at her companion – bigger and burlier than she – in Klingon. The other woman gives a surprisingly masculine grunt and leans over, heaving a slightly-disoriented Jim Kirk off the floor and placing him unceremoniously on his feet. 

Admiral Komack can’t help but feel as though they’ve just been yanked out of the proverbial frying pan and dumped straight into the fire. Unfortunately, his companions don’t seem to entertain the same sentiments; Kirk, despite his swollen jaw and bleeding upper lip, has a lopsided grin tugging at his mouth; his Vulcan first officer would be looking as unflappable as ever if Komack wasn’t detecting something alarmingly similar to admiration in his eyes.

In fact, if he thinks hard enough, Kirk has been sporting that stupid grin ever since their new captors first appeared on the scene and the leading woman’s commanding voice had rang out, stopping a large club-like weapon from smashing every single fiber of Kirk’s metatarsals to smithereens. That must have been around the same time Spock went utterly still, Komack thinks, and groans to himself, shakily getting to his feet and raising his hands above his head.

They are definitely doomed.

Their female captor swivels elegantly on her heel and turns away from them, striding forward purposefully and keeping her weapon unsheathed and at her side. Her compatriot shoves them forward, and for the first time since their supposedly diplomatic mission went to hell in a hand basket, Kirk makes no attempt to fight back, and has no snarky remark to offer their assailants. Spock, perhaps regaining some of his sensibilities, steps forward and puts a steadying hand firmly under both of his companions’ elbows, and steers them after the female Klingon. 

Komack thinks that he might cry.

Of all the peace treaties whose signings he oversaw, _this_ was the one he had to agree on. 

They are herded through the encampment, passing groups of Klingon rebels sharpening their weapons and playing a strange-looking card game, the harsh sounds of the language filling the air. 

When they are stopped by an enormous specimen of a general with nose piercings and a wickedly-sharp looking scimitar hanging from his calloused hand, Komack tells himself that this is the end. Kirk is still trying and failing to smother a grin and  
Spock looks almost serene, and they are definitely, _definitely_ going to die.

He expresses his concerns in a desperate whisper to Spock, who is standing calmly at his right as the smaller than normal Klingon warrioress growls something at the general, her (surprisingly delicate, Komack thinks vaguely) hands curling into fists at her sides, her knuckles whitening against her knife hilt. 

“Negative,” replies the Vulcan in a decidedly less strained whisper. “They will torture us, perhaps, but not kill us. We are to be used as leverage.”

“You can understand Klingon?” hisses Komack, trying to pretend the word torture never came out of Spock’s mouth. The other man’s eyebrows crease infinitesimally. 

“Only fragments, Admiral.”

“He’s being modest,” comes Kirk’s cheerful whisper from Spock’s right. “He understands way more than I do, anyway.”

“Considering the extent of your knowledge of the Klingon language is only enough to quite effectively start a bar fight, Captain, I would not consider that much of an accomplishment,” retorts Spock dryly, his voice lower still.

Kirk only shrugs, turning his attention back to the scene unfolding in front of them. In his despair, Komack has failed to notice that the Klingon general is leaving them be, walking away with a suspicious look in his eyes. 

“What did she tell him?” he hisses at Spock, trying not to wring his hands together anxiously.

“I believe the general idea of it is that she has orders t to watch over us herself, as we are an important bargaining tool – and, Admiral, if you had not noticed, the markings on her armour indicate that she is higher ranking than the general,” Spock says, the crease between his eyebrows becoming more apparent.

“Ah,” says Komack, “right, of course you’re right. How did I not notice that before?”

Their captor is still watching the retreating general’s back with something akin to caution, and Komack notices her companion shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other out of the corner of his eye.

Something seems off.

Seemingly contented with the general’s departure, she motions quickly for them to follow her, and once again turns on her heel and marches forward, her back straight, her long, straight ponytail swaying hypnotically from where it hangs through her helmet.

He hesitates, but Kirk moves forward willingly, apparently not minding the fact that his wrists are still bound with twine, or that they’re marching towards what has to be imminent torture.  
Komack cracks.

“What has gotten _into you?_ ” he hisses, and Kirk slows, as does Spock. Their captors continue forward, apparently oblivious.

Kirk gives him a funny look. “Are you sure you’re okay, sir? You’re looking a little stressed.”

“I sure as hell am _not_ okay!” splutters Komack, trying to keep his voice low. “We’re letting a couple Klingon women drag us to what is most likely going to end in – in torture, or something, and they’re not even using force to move us along! Look – they’re both standing in _front_ of us, for Christ’s sake! We can make a run for it, and you two are skipping after them obediently!”

The two Klingons are indeed both marching ahead of them, but Kirk raises an eyebrow in an uncanny impersonation of his first officer.

“Make a run for it? And go _where_ , Admiral? We’re surrounded by a bunch of Klingons who want to have nothing to do with the Empire and probably won’t hesitate to hurt us. A _lot._ ” He winces slightly and touches his swollen jaw gingerly with a bound hand.

“But – but –”

“Besides,” Kirk continues, starting to walk forward again and for some Godforsaken reason raising his voice to a decibel that their two captors will definitely be able to hear. Kormack tries not to have a mini heart-attack. If he had been paying closer attention, he would have noticed the bordering-on-mischievous glint in his eyes. “You ever seen a Klingon lady with such a lovely, slim figure?”

It takes a moment for him to realize exactly what Kirk is implying; time enough for Spock to sigh heavily through his nose, Kirk to grin even more widely than before and wink at his first officer – or the Klingon lady, who pauses in front of them, both are viable options – and watch as she crosses her lean arms in front of her in what could possibly be considered consternation.

What the _hell?_

“Captain, your proficiency for making overtly flattering comments at the most inappropriate times, while perhaps in some circles admirable, is –”

“I mean, seriously,” continues Kirk, placing his bound hand on Spock’s shoulder, “she could probably be a supermodel or something. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Spock?” Spock’s mouth twitches imperceptibly with something like amusement and Kirk looks like he’s trying hard not to laugh. “If only she’d let me buy her that drink.”

At this, both Klingons make noises that could be interpreted as either amusement or disgust, and Spock’s eyebrows raise fully. 

“I believe, Captain, that if you were to perhaps compliment her on her cunning intelligence rather than her admittedly aesthetically pleasing figure, she would be more likely to accept your invitation,” he says, not without a hint of something that sounds suspiciously like pride.

“Will somebody tell me what the _hell_ is going on?” interrupts Komack in a strangled whisper, stopping Kirk in the middle of his indignant “I compliment her on that all the time!” and causing everyone to freeze.

There is a beat of silence.

“Well,” begins Kirk (and Komack can swear he sees Spock roll his eyes) – but there is a sudden yelling, dangerous and angry and one hundred percent certifiably Klingon, and it’s coming in their direction.

“Son of a bitch,” snaps a female voice from in front of him, except this time it’s softer and nicer and more _human_ – “Kirk, you can wax poetic about my figure later. We have to get out of here.”

“Yes,” agrees Spock, and his strong grip finds Komack’s shoulder again. “Is there a suitable escape route?”

“We were sort of counting on the disguises to get us through to the front gates,” admits the voice, and Komack realizes with a jolt that it’s coming from the small Klingon lady.

“Yeah,” grumbles a much more masculine drawl from her side. “Next time you convince me to take part in a batshit crazy plan to save these idiots _again_ , could we at _least_ have a plan B?”

“We were sort of running short on time!” defends the first voice, while Kirk simultaneously says, “you look lovely as a lady  
Klingon, Bones.”

“Shut _up,_ Jim.”

Oh, _God –_

The yelling gets louder, and the woman swears again. “C’mon – time’s up, we have to make a run for it.”

“ _Where?_ ” asks Komack, while Spock and Kirk exchange a Look and Spock pulls Komack along as they speed up their pace. 

There’s an angry noise from in front of him, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it because there are phaser shots being fired a them and yelling and dirt and blood and sweat and they’re all running for their lives, which is a pastime Komack thinks desperately that he doesn’t _nearly_ enjoy as much as the crew of the _Enterprise_ seems to.

A blast sounds, and the buttress beside them creaks and groans and half falls apart; they all huddle against the stone wall –

“Lieutenant Uhura, I’d like to take a moment to compliment you on your impeccable Klingon.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“And timing. I should also acknowledge the timing.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

Kirk clears his throat slightly. “So what about that drink, huh?”

The woman – Lieutenant Uhura, apparently – pulls her helmet off, and Kormack is shocked to see that she’s laughing.

“You are an _idiot_ , Jim Kirk.”

“Does this mean you’ll say yes?”

“Is this the time?” says Mccoy in an annoyed voice, as Spock takes down a speeder with a well-aimed blaster shot.

“Eh,” she says, and Komack thinks for a moment that it’s a damn good thing she’s the one rescuing them; otherwise they wouldn’t stand a chance in hell. “I’d rather be bought drinks by an Andorian gruddlesnipe. Also, I happen to be in a relationship.”

“Spock’s invited as well,” says Kirk jovially, firing at the advancing Klingons as Mccoy ducks under the wall. “You too, Bones. And Admiral Komack, if he likes.”

“Thank you, Captain,” says the Vulcan in a dry voice, “I appreciate the invitation.”

“No problem,” says Kirk, as Uhura gives a long-suffering sigh. 

_Yes,_ thinks Komack weakly. _We are_ definitely _doomed._


End file.
